Hands of a devil
by AbrahamDankby
Summary: Issei made a couple bad choices when he was younger which have left him in a world that he has grown scarily comfortable in, what will happen when the events of the red dragon emperor's reawakening happens to get in the way of that?


**I do not own 'Highschool DXD', it is owned by Ichiei Ishibumi.**

He sat there on the worn, crooked bench, the one that was located in the center of the locker room which was hounded on all sides by the black and brown steel cabinets, all of them being smashed open years ago or having locks so soiled that they were rendered nigh unbreakable and left to decay.

There were the dark brown splatters of old blood sprays which had been left uncleaned for god knows how long. Mixed in with those old ones were the occasional red droplets of the new blood which stained this room. The grey, cracked tile floor had been sprinkled with water earlier in order to make sure that any droplets which rained down from his hands would be persuaded towards the drain in the corner of the room, furthest from the door and on the left side.

The room smelling like an old, decrepit copper works factory. The room smelled like warm, wet, metal. Or to be more precise, the sheer scent of blood was enough to overpower the senses to the point like you could taste it clear as day.

He was currently gently wrapping the bright white bandages around his hands, both for the sake of padding and protection for what was about to transpire as well as being there to help keep his hands relatively dry from the blood which continued to come out of the various cut as well as the myriad of bruises ranging in all different colours believe it or not.

That last round had left someone bleeding and hard of breath as their ribs poked uncomfortably closer in towards their chest than they would have liked. But that didn't matter. It never had mattered in the first place. All that did matter however was that everything was fine as long as it was not him there lying bloody on the floor. Bloody for sure, but still standing. That's the only thing that counts.

Tightening the bandages on his left hand just a little bit more marked the end of his break as the distinct sound of a heavy hand pounding on the brittle door marked his exit. No words were needed as he finally rose, a light drip occasionally hitting the floor as the blood had already made little work of the padding and had already drained right into the material like nothing stood in its course. Before he left he made sure to crack and pop all his limbs and ligaments back into place just as assurance that he would he nice and spry for what was just up ahead.

The bruises that already laid on his chest like medals of war were left to wait for treatment as there would be no point in healing right before another pounding. That's something he had already picked up from this guy in particular, he aimed for the torso far too often, left no guard up for his face. The sort of mistake which was about to cost him potentially more than a couple bids.

The locker room door finally creaked open, the hinges barley holding anything together. Except from his chauffeur the corridor was lonely, cold. Just the way he needed it in order to focus. Except for the fact that even now he could hear the anticipated from the crowd that was behind the door not fifteen feet away.

He marched forward in stride, loosening up his body and tightening it up as he went, some final assurance before round four. A round which was rare to reach from any and all contenders, the majority fell around two, this was something that was not built for endurance. More vicious resilience.

He smacked the door open and was greeted by numerous flares as the makeshift lights focused on him and his approach towards the ring. His opponent already there, hopping about and taunting like the overconfident jackass he had made no attempt to conceal so far.

His opponent was a big guy. Not 'fat' per say, no, muscle. That's what it was. While his technique and tactics seriously needed to match up even he had to admit that those punches from before no matter how inaccurate hit like a cross between a furious bull and a runaway train. Simple sheer force with all that momentum, a deadly combination when used right. Like a bear now that he thought about it, 'muscle and momentum'.

He hopped over the steel cables that made up the rings ropes. He knew from experience that getting through into them and then getting grinded up against then was like a rusty serrated cheese grater tearing up your flesh. But at least that was better than the barbed wire they used to use instead, once you were knocked into that it was over and that was the end of the discussion.

Someone in the far end of the ring smacked the old cow bell and signaled for the fight to begin once again. Immediately the 'bear' surged forward using that momentum to his advantage, trying to get a few hard jabs in. if only he had been slightly smarter he could have simply sidestepped that charge and have torn his face off with the cables assistance. But a crowd cries for blood in sprays rather than pours, so that's exactly what they'll get.

After about forty-five solid seconds of him simply playing with his food, he finally went all in. like the world's most violent game of poker, and he had just played his winning hand.

A sidestep and he got his chance to get a hell of a hit in, one that was powerful enough to make the bears eyes cross and for the goliath to stumble back in a plain daze. And from there it was a massacre. A slaughterhouse that the crowd watched with sick fascination and thirsty bloodlust.

Right, left, right, left, right, right, left, right, hit after hit, after hit, after hit. Again and again. There was no stop to the hard jabs. The rough uppercuts. And brutal swipes which sent the bears skull spinning on his spine. He could stop this right here right now, there was blood coming out of the guys nose, mouth, ears, and uncountable scars which now labeled his face as the loser of this fight. Every time his head would snap to a different direction in recoil to whatever hit had just landed sent heavy sprays in different directions, it was as if it was raining blood.

And finally the bear just fell. Simply slumped down to the floor in a completely unconscious stuper. Not even somewhat still awake to experience the shame to any degree. The cheers of the crowd out did his laboured breathing as he got air back into his lungs, by the end of that spree he was barely even making his hands into fists, just flailing using the very last of his energy to get the guy down.

By far the most well dressed man within this entire pit sprung into the moderately sized ring with more enthusiasm for what had just transpired than he himself could ever manage in any circumstances. Not that it mattered. He could barely hear a word from the energetic bastard as what few hits the bear had got on his head had done far more damage than anything below the neck, the constant ringing drone as he stood there very slightly shaking as if buckling under his own weight as he tried to compose himself out of his fighters position, facing trouble doing so like he usually.

But through this celebractory declaration of the victor he at least had heard exactly what he needed to hear in order to make the pain all worth it, "...and here we have our victor ladies and gents! Our little boy turn't vicious bastard, Issei once again sweeps the floor with all that he put to him! The angriest bundle of fury you'll ever see in this ring right here…", he once again tuned out after that as the ringing continued. That's all he needed to hear, the only real thing that gave him any gratification anymore was the sound of his broadcasted victory to the bloodthirsty masses.

 _Yeah… I won… I fucking won alright. Yeah. yeah..._

Issei was kind of amused that even in his head was the exhausted that that whole ordeal. He lightly beat his chest with his left hand, as his right stayed limp by his side, in order to push the constricted air out of his struggling lunges. If he took in any breath during the fight then it would have probably cost him the fight, especially with all those body blows.

He was barely keeping himself up on his own two feet, his calves specifically giving off a searing pain, left similar to a burn in which a hot iron was pressed directly against the skin, that kind of pain specifically. But then again, at least he would be able to walk tomorrow, Issei would count himself lucky if he could write a coherent sentence with just how structurally unsound both his arms felt, despite his best efforts to keep his wrists locked.

After the cheering died back down and the bears body was dragged out of the ring, his chest only just moving signifying that he did not need to be resuscitated, or at least he didn't need to be yet. Issei climbed out of the ring whilst putting on a new white shirt that someone at ringside had provided him, his cargo pants and work boots remained as there was no point in removing them, exception being maybe scrubbing down the boots a little as the blood sprays simply sunk into the black material of his pants and would conceal itself on the fabric. The light beige work boots however would get a brush down as the distinctive bloody spots stood out against the light colour.

Issei worked his way through the dissipating crowd, it was now nearing half-past twelve which meant that the main event was over and now all of the casual guys who just came for the entertainment would go back home whereas the regulars would go back to the bar that neighboured next door to this old run down gym. Issei however would simply get his money and leave, he was absolutely shattered after a long day and it was a school night.

His boss was at the back as he always was, sitting on a sort of makeshift throne of sorts in the sense that it was a raised position where only he would reside among the spectators. Issei never knew the mans name in the five years he had personally known the man, all that time he had simply known him as the 'bossman'. From whatever murmurs he had heard over time he could gather that he was just some organiser for whatever gangster comes by with a paycheck, he never knew how dirty his hands were specifically but from what he could assume he was more of a 'fixer' than anything else, just a guy who was paid to do whatever jobs needed doing here and there. This whole scheme with the fights was the sole exception however, the only real thing he was personally involved with that he actually cared for. Maybe it was just some small passion of his to run these bloodsports but Issei decided a long time ago to not pry. Hell, what would he even get out of the man that he didn't even know the name of.

"Good man, kept your guard and kept quiet. And for that; you get a little bonus.", the bossman proceeded to take out the usual brown envelope filled with about two-thousand american dollars, which would come out around seven-hundred and ninety hundred thousand yen when he got around to converting it. Pretty good sum of his labour at the end of the day. As for his 'bonus', the bossman pulled out another, smaller envelope, he could tell that there was something in the pag weighing it down. Issei was handed it and a glance inside showed that it was actually a pretty sizable amount of cocaine.

"Hey, I already said it again and again, I'm not getting involved with any of that.", Issei had always been very firm that his interaction with this world started and ended with these boxing matches, no further than that. The boss had repeatedly tried and failed to get him on board. He had tried the prostitution tactic of giving them a product that only they could supply and then when they get hooked you don't let the craving fade, and Issei had never once tasted a single particle of cocaine, not even one puff of any kind of smokable, and had even kept dry on the alcohol. The boss had also tried the more sneaky tactic of asking him for favours and ramping them up over time to the point that they could no longer do anything stay loyal for the sake of protection, but once again Issei had completely blocked this by plain and simply saying no whenever the request was given, Issei knew that if they then stopped contacting him out of spite then no other fighter would bring in more spectators, and therefore money, then he did so eventually they would come right back for him and get him back to where they left off.

Issei simply gave a gentle toss and the boss caught it without hassle with a knowing smirk on his face at the fact that he knew exactly what would've happened the second he gave the boy the goods. "Heh. yeah, yeah, I know. But ya' can't blame me for trying.", he gave issei an additional couple hundred dollar notes as his actual reward. After which both exchanged a wordless albeit quite yet respectful nod to one another as the bossman went back to whatever he needed to do and Issei made his way towards the now nearly empty gym, he gestured for the door man to open up and the man gave him a warm pat on the back as he left, a nice sign of goodwill.

Immediately issei was greeted by the cold breath of the wind as he left into the open night. Although everything seemed barren with the exception of the quiet smokers just outside the bar, Issei knew that this was just another strategy used to keep this whole blood sport thing on the down low.

Issei knew off by heart where the 'snipers' were posted within a one mile radius of the gym when it was fight night. Funnily enough to Issei, despite being called 'snipers' none of these guys actually carried gun or any weapons of any kind as a matter of fact. They were perched up on the low rooftops and inside the shadows of the alleyways corners. Their whole job was to keep an eye open at all times and an ear to the ground just to check if the police had any idea to go and look around this area or even attempt a full assault ambush if they felt both brave and confident enough in whatever weak intel made its way towards them. After which the gym would completely clear out and everyone would either leave the immediate vicinity through the weak and already tampered with security cameras whereas the more important people would go and hide within the secret basement that would not be found unless someone already knew where it was.

Thankfully it never really came to that, a few noise complaints here and there as which point any officer would be directed towards the bar next door and leave the seemingly empty gym on its own.

Issei decided to take the main streets home tonight rather than following the narrow bit slightly quicker alleys and backstreets. Honestly Issei was simply exhausted and wanted to avoid the slight manual labor that the quick way around required, climbing over and under a couple fences and the like.

Issei kept his hands in the pockets of his worn coat that he had picked up from the door man as he left the gym. The last round hadn't done too much damage to his fists but despite this he would get another fresh wrap of bandages once he got home along with a proper clean of the injuries. Whatever cut were found elsewhere on his body were simply too small to properly care about and would heal naturally in just a short time, tonight was basically just bruises. This was fine for the time being as he was still very much running off the adrenaline rush of that final flurry of hits from earlier, although by this point he was on fumes. He already knew that tomorrow he would be going in to school wearing a hoodie underneath his blazer just for the sake of having something soft and flexible pressing up all the spots that were sure as ady going to hurt when he would wake up, plus the padding alone would help conceal whatever bandages he would decide he needed when it came to his self care when he finally got in.

After an all too brief forty minute walk he was finally making his way towards his house, it was now around two in the morning he could see that all the lights were off which meant that his parents had gone to bed, Issei was glad that this was the case as he didn't want the where and why and he as always would completely dodge in favour of going to his room and getting to the first aid kit that was in his desk, the kit that would barely fit in the drawer he had it in and when it was in made an incredibly filled in fit. Issei used to go through all the trouble of hiding all of his stuff to do with his training and whole second life in general all over his room, under the floorboards and behind panels in his closet, but he gave up with all of that around three years ago and just left things as they were.

Ignoring the door and instead climbing through the kitchen window he made sure to leave ajar when he left much earlier, he finally got in to be met by the pitch black house. He rarely if ever used the door as a little security noise would play whenever the door was opened or closed, it was not loud by any means but it was noticeable so Issei tended to avoid it after eleven at night. He closed the window behind him and made sure the latch was secure. Finally he made his way towards his room.

Making his way through his house was an entirely silent affair, Issei did regular maintenance to the houses floors and particularly the stairs just to have a sense of assurance that wherever he steeped would not be followed by any distinctive creaking. Walking past his parents room confirmed that they were completely out, or at least his father was due to how loud his snoring was which could be heard outside of his door. Issei chuckled at this quirk of his, whilst also being amazed that his mother was completely numb to it to the point of being more or less completely unaware of it.

Issei dug the key to his room out of back pocket and unlocked the door. Issei had used a lock on his door for about two years now, it was more for the sake of security above anything else, maybe a healthy dash of paranoia to go along with it for the sake of it. Whilst Issei's parents had done their best to stay out of Issei's space, more out of denial than anything else, any other visitors they could have round may not have quite the same restrictions when it came to his own privacy. Then again sometimes this issue was accidental, such as the time when one of his mother's friends came to visit and they just so happened to bring their seven year old child with then, only for that child to then go for a wander and to then end up opening the door to his room only to then see Issei sitting on the edge of his bed wrapping five meters worth of bandages around his midsection after one of the spectators of one his his fights happened to make a wrong bet and then decided to get a Issei with a stab to the gut with a serrated blade. The kid saw more than he bargained for to say the least and from that encounter Issei decided to get a door lock. No more awkward encounters or traumatised children, or at least one could hope.

Issei entered his room and then locked the door behind him without even turning back around, Issei's life by this point was just a case of routine and muscle memory. Turning the light on illuminated the room Issei could now actually be able to see what he was doing, although in reality he really didn't need the assistance due to the aforementioned muscle memory, that along with the strange ability he had always had of having relatively good eyesight in the dark than most. However having the light on was necessary when he needed to patch himself up, he needed to know what was a particularly heavy shadow and what was a bruise or an open wound at a quick glance.

Issei immediately set about getting the formalities out of the way; laying the plastic sheets across his bed and a decent section of the floor just to make sure that any blood that would happen to spread further than his body would at least not make any stains, although to be fair at least that would give some kind of variety or flair to his room.

Issei's room was practically barren, not a single indication that it was a place that someone would spend the majority of the time or especially not that this room belonged to a sixteen year old boy. No posters were stuck on the barren white walls, the only visible displays of color within the room being the light brown wood used on the door as well as the closet built into the wall, along with this was the same wood colour desk in the corner of his room where a laptop laid alone, the laptop itself having so many security measures alone that no one would dare go near it unless told to. The desk however was the only part of his room to have any variety as there was a large roll of boxing tape on the desk and that was it. The drawers containing nothing interesting except for the first aid kit on the right set.

His bed was plain with white covers for his pillow and duvet, the memory foam mattress was more or less a requirement as far as Issei was concerned as a regular spring mattress would be particularly rough against all the cuts and bruises he regularly sustained. The bed frame was a standard metal one and nothing special.

Issei began dressing down to just his boxers, revealing more and more bruises as he went, many of which he had no previous clue about. Before taking his pants off he made sure to remove the full payment envelope from his pocket just so that he would remember to put it in its place. All of Issei's bloodied clothes went into the far corner of his room, on the left side of his door, Issei had already placed a sheet of plastic there earlier just in the case that any blood and sweat would just so happen to drain out of the clothing by morning. His boots went into his closet as usual and would be scrubbed down in the morning.

Issei grabbed his payment and proceeded towards his desk, he then shifted his laptop away from the center of the desk which revealed a cavity filled with all of Issei's previous payments, he guessed it all to total around one-hundred and thirty thousand dollars all said and told, he had never exchanged any of it over the course of the last six years. It certainly wasn't due to any kind of fear, Issei certainly felt no fear in that regard. All of that money was an 'insurance policy', Issei wasn't an idiot by any stretch, he knew that one day, maybe tomorrow or maybe in five years, he would need to run and not look back. He knew it was selfish, but it was smart. Issei was always the type of person to understand what would need to be done in the name of self-preservation.

Issei simply tossed the envelope in with the masses and covered the hole back up with the laptop. He then went for the first aid kit and went back to sitting on his bed as he unzipped the heavy duty utility. He went for the needle and thread first along with the lighter. He would heat the point of the needle whenever he switched up any of his wounds, it would simultaneously make the needle piercing through his flesh less painful as well as somewhat cauterise his wounds in small sections to some extent. None of that meant that all this still didn't hurt like hell. He just had gotten so used to it by this point that he paid no real mind to it aside from the occasional curse.

Thankfully he only had a few minor open cuts that actually required any attention, in reality he could really just leave them to heal naturally but stitching them up here and now meant that he would walk around tomorrow looking slightly less tense. This was another time when Issei's practised muscle memory would come into play as stitching his wounds was very much an autonomous process unless Issei knew the wound was deep enough to elicit a sense of time and patience. Even then, tonights wound work was all said and done within twenty minutes and after which Issei had already turned off the light was laying on top of his covers more out of comfort than anything else as he also interlaced his hands behind his head on his pillow and stared up at the blank ceiling. Going to sleep by three in the morning was an incredibly rare occurrence for Issei so he immediately took the opportunity to get a couple extra hours of sleep for whatever it was worth.

The only real detractor to getting more sleep as of recently was the fact that he had recently been having… dreams. They were certainly not pleasant yet they were still not unpleasant, and he would never describe them as nightmares by any stretch. They were just 'strange'. All he would remember was darkness but with a faint yet still noticeably red glowing presence, along with a low droning noise, like a combination of an unending growl and snore at the same time.

Maybe it meant more? Probably not ad far as Issei knew or went as much to care. Issei wasn't one for believing in anything higher than he knew, he simply didn't have the patience for it. Issei took whatever these dreams were at face value; he had probably taken a few too many hard hits to the head.

 **My upload schedule will probably mean that this will be the only chapter for a while but hopefully not. Once again, I am sorry for how terrible the upload schedule is for whatever thats worth.**


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